The Hunter's Bane
by Jarek R Creed
Summary: A Hitman/Splinter cell Crossover. Please Read and Review.
1. Chapter 1

**The Hunter's Bane**

(A Hitman/Splinter Cell Crossover)

**Chapter 1:**** Silent Entrance**

_For years, I've seen extremely powerful people fall from high places. All those people they stepped on or cheated, all that time clawing their way up, wasted in but a few quick moments. But that's who I am, that is what I do. I am unwavering, I am swift, and I am deliberate. I eliminate those who have wronged others without remorse or hesitation. I protect those too cowardly to face consequences. Guile is my method, stealth is my shield, and self-preservation is my code. I am an assassin. I go by no name, merely a number which is… 47._

As the engine of the bus rumbled loudly, preparing to embark on its journey, a stern man with defined features stepped aboard and slowly walked down the aisle. In his possession was a briefcase with some sort of insignia; it was obviously an expensive and sturdy briefcase. His facial expressions were stolid and showed no emotion, but his eyes darted across the bus, scanning the vehicle's inhabitants before he sat down. He was extremely clean cut, even his head was without one hair, but two features of this man gave him a distinguished appearance: his clothes, which were extremely formal and complimented his flawless features, and a barcode on the back of his head.

Now sitting in a seat, 47 unlocked his briefcase and flipped it open, revealing a light-weight laptop among other things. Green words illuminated across the screen:

**February 2nd, 2009**

**Mission Briefing**

**This mission is very different from the norm, 47. You're going to Maryland and your objective is to eliminate Samuel Fisher, but our information on him is very limited. Apparently, he is a Special Forces operative working under some sort of government agency, possibly the CIA. Due to our current relations, this mission will be off the record. What we do know about him is that he is extremely dangerous. Proceed with caution.**

**Best of luck,**

**Diana**

**Objective:**

**Eliminate Samuel Fisher**

**Target Description:**

**Name: Samuel Fisher**

**Gender: Male**

**Age: 51**

**Height: 5ft. 10 in.**

**Weight: 170 lbs**

At the end of the page, a photo depicting a man in a prison jumpsuit getting a mug shot is presented.

The hitman minimized the mission briefing and looked at the attachments which contained a satellite picture of the house along with its blue prints. It was a mid-sized, fairly average suburban home connected to an average fence, a small backyard, and a one-car garage. 47 began planning the hit in his mind as he stared out the window, gazing at the blend of imagery before him.

_My life is a life of service. I do the jobs that most are too afraid to handle, I possess the training that so little get. I get my hands dirty for the security of others; I kill to protect innocent lives. I am silent, I am invisible, and I am unrelenting. I am the shadow of a ghost… I am the splinter cell._

Sam grasped his knife tightly as the control deck slid open. The boat traversed across the New York waters; Lady Liberty was in sight. Fisher immediately grabbed Carson Moss, attempting to surprise and subdue the burly security guard. Moss spun around as Fisher swung his knife towards him, grabbing the hand holding the knife firmly and overpowering Fisher as the blade hit the ground.

Fisher's mind read over what he had found out about Moss over the past few months, specifically medical files. Extremely fit, but an injured knee, he remembered. Sam immediately struck Moss's leg with his knee and snapped his neck in one fluid motion, without hesitation or remorse…

Sam twitched to life, examining his surroundings. He was in his bedroom. It was a few minutes past midnight, and his mind was nostalgically reliving previous missions he had been on. Experience was certainly on his side. Climbing out of bed, Fisher made his way into the bathroom and flicked on the light switch, looking into the mirror.

He saw a tough man, with brown hair streaked with gray, a marine-cut, and scruff on his face. Fisher then looked down, thinking about his daughter, Sarah Fisher. It was difficult for him to believe it was only a year ago that she was killed, yet the wound was still so fresh. He threw some water in his face and took another glance in the mirror, only to be interrupted by a small noise of the front door creaking open.

The bathroom light turned off and he quickly entered the hallway leading to the front door and the living room. The front door was cracked open and the lock had been picked. Small footsteps were heard behind him. Instinctively, Sam spun around and swung at what he now saw was a dark figure of a man. 47 immediately brought his hands up over his head, blocking the hook and following up by firing his silenced 9mm pistol. Sam immediately smacked the gun away, disarming the assailant. 47 responded by getting past his guard, and running him into the wall.

Sam kept his calm and immediately swung his elbow into 47's face twice, sending 47 backwards. The hitman also kept his calm, stepping into Sam's guard once more and jabbing him straight in the face. Sam staggered backwards, feeling the power of this blow before looking up again. The assailant dashed out of the back door, dropping some sort of flashing device, shaped like a mine.

"Shit!" Sam shouted, immediately sprinting out the front door.

An explosion followed, knocking Fisher to the ground. He turned to see his house now on fire and ran down the sidewalk, disappearing into darkness…

47 examined the burning house, looking for any survivors. Satisfied with his performance, the assassin casually walked away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Hornet's Nest**

As the adrenaline in Sam's blood began to subside, Fisher dialed his cell phone and immediately called the NSA.

"Get me Lambert on the line." Fisher said with a tone of annoyance and impatience.

"I'm sorry sir…"

"Don't give me that. Tell him it's Sam…" Sam interrupted, cutting off the receptionist.

With some inaudible exchange of words in the background and the shuffle of the receiver on the other end, a familiar voice was emitted.

"Holy… Fisher, you're alive! What the hell happened? Where are you?" Irving Lambert, Fisher's boss, and old friend, inquired in shock.

"It's not safe speaking over this line. Meet me at the diner in twenty minutes… and bring my gear."

"Fisher, you know that's against… Ugh!" Lambert spoke as Fisher angrily hung up.

_Towson, Maryland_

_February 3rd, 9:22 AM_

"I'll just have a cup of coffee..." Lambert said to the waitress as she walked off.

Fisher was still dressed in his pajamas, clasping his hands, and maintaining a general attitude of annoyance. His knuckles, calloused from years of Krav Maga, were in plain sight; he made sure his body language was intimidating.

"An assassin visited my home last night, tried to kill me... This guy had all the toys: mines, silenced handguns, the works..." Fisher started, staring at Lambert's newly arrived cup of coffee.

"I've notified the police and pulled a few strings. You are currently on vacation in New York..." Lambert replied, taking a sip of his coffee nonchalantly.

"My identity has been compromised. I have to get to the bottom of this... I have to find out who is trying to kill me and where. Did you bring my gear?" Fisher asked.

Lambert rolled a backpack, slightly opened, revealing his tri-lens night vision goggles, a combat knife, and a SC pistol with a silencer.

"I've also brought a change of clothes in there. Nice teddy bear PJ's Fisher, they look good on you." Lambert said, cracking a smile.

Fisher smirked on his way to the bathroom to change.

"47... This is Diana, our client expresses his displeasure with your recent performance. The target's body was not found." came from 47's cell phone.

"I... I underestimated his skills. I was too overconfident. Tell your client... Tell him I will eliminate this Sam character, free of charge... This one is personal." 47 said with a tone of anger.

"Splendid, 47... If you're not up to this, we can call it off..." Diana said.

"Not an option." 47 said before abruptly hanging up.

He sat in his hideout, a small shack in Maryland. Currently, 47 was very wealthy and could afford missing his pay. He could not, however, afford to tarnish his reputation. It was time to get serious.

On the table sat a Walther WA2000 sniper rifle. He quickly disassembled it and placed it in his briefcase, not before picking up his silenced AMT Silverballers and fiber-wire. This time, he would not fail.

"Time to track down this Samuel Fisher; this town is small, and he couldn't have gotten far from the house on foot. I'll just have to keep my eyes open and my mind on the target." 47 thought as he climbed into his rented car.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: ****Subtle Methods**

Snow began to fall in the small, quiet town, creating a slippery and frigid environment. Fisher walked out of the diner, staring for the moment at where the sidewalk met the street. He shoved his hands in his pockets, exhaling as he walked down the sidewalk, considering his next move. From what Fisher had gathered, this guy was very talented and must have caught wind of Fisher still being alive. Since Sam had no leads, he had to draw out his enemy.

Fisher approached a parked, old-looking SUV and looked around. A patrol car was parked on the corner overlooking the scene. Sam brought his fist back and slammed it through the glass, opening the door. Sirens followed as the officer caught wind of this, speeding towards Fisher's position promptly. He immediately began hotwiring the car, tilting his head away frequently to judge how close the officer was.

As the police car approached the old SUV, it took off, accelerating down the road and picking up speed.

"All units in the area please respond. We have a carjacker..." the officer began speaking into his radio.

The car was an automatic car that was poorly kept and must've been due for a visit to a car mechanic; the interior was broken up and old, and the distance on the car was quite high. It was obvious that this car was on its last leg, and the handling was not in the best shape either as the car constantly turned slightly to the left or right without constant attention to the wheel.

Sam looked out the right window, seeing a BMW sitting at a light in an intersection. As the SUV passed through the intersection, the BMW ran the light and began to follow the chase.

47 had spent the entire morning patrolling the streets of Towson, searching left and right for his target with no success up until this point. As he sat in his slick, expensive BMW listening to some sort of classical music, observing every pedestrian walking down the street, the sound of sirens caught 47's attention along with the police chase down the street, passing through the very intersection the assassin was sitting at. 47 caught a glimpse of the driver; it was his target.

Making a sharp right turn, 47 slammed his foot on the acceleration and followed the chase. The roads were beginning to slicken due to the snowfall, but 47 was able to carefully maneuver up behind one of the two patrol cars following the SUV.

They were reaching another stoplight with several cars waiting to move on with their daily routines, unaware of the chaos ensuing a few meters away. Fisher carefully maneuvered through the traffic, successfully avoiding a collision as he expedited his driving. The two patrol cars skidded out of control as they tried to brake suddenly, causing a massive collision and a pile up.

47 prudently drove on the sidewalk around the group and restarted the chase, rolling down the window as he approached the back of the SUV. The assassin pulled a silenced Silverballer from inside his suit and peered out the window, pointing at the driver's seat of the SUV.

"Shit!" Fisher exclaimed, watching as his attacker pulled out a pistol and started firing.

Fisher weaved the car left and right, avoiding the bullets as they collided with the asphalt or the back of the SUV. He grimaced as the whipping sound of a bullet was emitted along with the sound of a tire being deflated. The BMW sped up, now side by side as 47 pulled up his pistol and pointed at Fisher, pressing on the trigger of the Silverballer several times. Sam read the assassin's body language and ducked down under his seat, twirling the steering wheel to the left and to the far right quickly; this maneuver built up momentum for the SUV as it slammed into the side of the BMW, causing a collision into several parked cars on the sidewalk of some sort of warehouse.

For moment, everything went blank.

Agent 47 groaned as he kicked open the door of his BMW which was now lying on its side, wedged between the SUV and a street light. He escaped from the wreckage with only a few cuts and scrapes. The sound of an ambulance siren could be heard in the distance. 47 instinctively looked towards his target's car, examining the now empty front seat. A closer look revealed a few droplets of blood.

He turned to the warehouse that stood before him, slowly making his way through the front door, his trusty Silverballer at hand. The building was worn down and abandoned; apparently it was several years old. The interior of the warehouse was filled with several aisles of crates stacked up on shelves and above it dangled a few lights. 47 pressed his hand up against the light switch but only a few sparks came out from the recently destroyed lights.

47's face contorted in frustration; this move was a mistake, a rookie mistake. He had given away his position now, which would only serve against him. Dashing away from the light switch, he found himself standing in an aisle, the only light being that of a bit of sunlight with a grayish hue due to the clouds above. 47 heard a sound above and looked up; a large crate was falling straight at him.

Instinctively, 47 leaped out the way, dodging the crate barely and firing several shots above. The silhouette of a man was now gone; only darkness was in his vision. He climbed to his feet, observing his surroundings with an undisturbed awareness possessed by few. In his head, it was a battle of wits, something he was yet to be bested at.

It was obvious that 47 had to keep moving since he was an open target; his movements were irregular, possibly trying to throw off the aim of some enemy. Gunshots whizzed by 47's feet as the well-dressed assassin dashed behind cover at the end of an aisle, returning fire to a combatant now on the same height level as Agent 47.

"You can still get out of this alive. Who is your employer?" the ghost's shadow inquired.

47 responded by reloading his Silverballer and firing at his position.

Sam gripped his shoulder; it had been grazed from a bullet during the car chase earlier. His tactic was much like a spider, leading it's food into a web, or in this case, leading a worthy adversary into an environment in which Fisher had the home field advantage, especially since he was now sporting his tri-lens night-vision, thermal-vision, electromagnetic vision goggles.

Peeking out from cover, Fisher fired two shots at his assailant, hearing an interesting sound from one of the shots...

47 grimaced, letting out a groan of pain. His left arm had been grazed by a bullet.

"Returning the favor…" Fisher said to himself, cracking a smile.

Suddenly the door slammed open. SWAT team members busted in on 47's side, immediately yelling.

"TPD, freeze!" yelled an officer as they rushed into the room, dressed in blue camouflage balaclavas, and wielding state of the art sub-machine guns.

Sam immediately leaped up onto the large shelves holding the crates and climbed up. Using his extreme athleticism, he leaped onto a catwalk and dashed out of the exit. 47 slowly put his hands up, dropping a Silverballer as he stood in the open aisle, closing his eyes. A SWAT team member immediately rushed forward, putting his hand on 47's shoulder. Immediately, the cunning assassin put the opponent in an arm bar and broke his arm in one swift motion, debilitating the opponent as he let out a yell.

In one fluid motion, 47 pulled out his second Silverballer from inside his suit and opened fire. When the gunfire stopped and the smoke cleared, the member was visible on the ground, now missing his balaclava. Walking out of the back exit, 47, now wearing a mask to cover his face, leaped onto a garbage dumpster and hopped a fence, disappearing into a foggy alleyway as the snow began to kick up even harder than before.

Fisher looked down from the top of the warehouse. Police surrounded the area, so there was no escape there. Observing his surroundings, he saw a neighboring building that was only a story shorter than the warehouse. He immediately sprinted towards the edge of the building and jumped off, hitting the roof of the second building roughly and rolling to absorb the impact on a larger area.

Sam dashed towards the end of the next rooftop and jumped off, slamming into a car and putting a dent into it before sliding off of it and into a river, eluding the authorities.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: Exchange of Hands**

Fisher stood in a dark hallway, looking at a bald man standing at the edge of the hallway in a ray of white light. His target was dressed in formal attire, wearing a red tie and dark black gloves. The back of his head was in plain sight, with a bar code across it. Sam skulked further and further until he brought his knife to the man's neck, but was suddenly stopped as the opponent latched onto Sam's arm and threw a fist straight into his face...

He floated down the river without any overt sign of life for a moment. It took a few seconds before he rose to the surface, gasping for air and looking around.

"Dream..." Fisher muttered, scanning the environment.

The splinter cell immediately swam out of the water and back onto the streets. The temperature was extremely cold, and the fact that Fisher was dripping in liquid did not help him. He was calloused to many things, one of them being hypothermia due to his intense navy seal training. This helped him shrug off the cold and keep his mind focused.

The blaring noise of sirens was a distant, but apparent danger to Sam, so he immediately sprinted into an apartment complex adjacent to his position, making his way through the empty lobby and up a flight of stairs.

47 stopped, tucking the balaclava away as he scanned the river. A man climbed out of the icy waters, which caused the assassin to spring into action, bolting forward in a fast, determined walk as he locked his eyes on the target. His bullet grazing did nothing to hamper him; his focus was substantial. The target entered through the front door of an apartment complex only a few yards away.

47 proceeded across the street, outstretching his hand in front of a car as it stopped short, only a foot away from the assassin. Pushing through the door, 47 scanned the lobby; it was empty and plain, the only exit being the entrance and the stairs. His mind connected thought to thought at a surprising speed, considering each scenario and playing it in his head over and over. The assassin headed up the stairs, pointing his silenced Silverballer towards the ground.

Fisher slammed into a young, irate man standing in the hallway dressed in a t-shirt and boxers reading the morning paper.

"What the hell man?" yelled the civilian, watching as Fisher walked away.

It was the top floor; only way left was down. Fisher immediately approached a door at the end of the hallway, pressing his lockpick into the knob.

"C'mon..." Fisher muttered, twisting the lockpick around, getting a feel for things; he was rusty.

The man stared, scratching his head in confusion and mild alert.

47 scanned each floor, peeking out from the stairwell upon reaching every story. Now at the top, 47 emerged from the stairwell to see his target busting through a door and a man walking inside his room and locking the door. 47 pursued Fisher upon locating him, entering the apartment room with his pistol out. It was completely empty, and the window to the outside was wide open.

47 looked out the window, seeing nothing out of the norm. Turning away, he was met by a fist bashing into his cheek.

Sam clouted Agent 47 straight in the cheek, following up with another hit straight into his adversary's face. The assassin staggered backwards, feigning a dazed condition as Fisher stepped forward, executing a straight punch. 47 responded promptly by swatting the hand away and sidestepping; the assassin counter-attacked with a horizontal elbow, landing the blow directly into Sam's jaw and sending Fisher into a wall.

Fisher put one hand on his jaw, cracking it as he looked back at the assassin with a look of unavoidable rage. His assailant held up his hands with closed fists, covering his upper torso as he looked into Fisher's eyes with a stolid calmness. Sam advanced forward, maneuvering past 47's defenses with a committed shove and pushed him into a refrigerator. Gripping 47's collar firmly, Fisher performed an open-handed palm strike. The assassin stopped the strike by swinging his forearm in a large circular motion, both redirecting the strike and breaking Fisher's grip.

The assassin then grabbed Fisher's sleeve and performed a reverse punch, rattling Sam's midsection and sending him weaving into a dresser. As 47 drew near, Fisher used the mirror in front of him to determine how close his opponent was before delivering a powerful straight kick into 47's torso, sending him flying into a bookcase and causing the shelves to collapse and everything on them to pour onto the clone.

Fisher approached the now stunned 47 and swung a round house kick straight across his opponent's face, turning his body around and performing a spinning backhand. 47 put up an arm and stopped the backhand midway, slamming Fisher with a stalwart straight punch, using his entire body to follow through.

Sam was sent flying backwards and out of the window of the third floor of the apartment complex. Glass shattered everywhere, cutting Fisher as he broke through the window and fell.

47 quickly grabbed his Silverballer from off the ground and looked out the window. His target was hanging from the fire escape, pointing his handgun at the window and quickly firing. He quickly backed off, dodging the several bullets as they traversed towards his position.

Approaching again, he saw Fisher now on street level running into a subway station.

Fisher's knuckles were cut and bruised from his recent altercation; his face was reddened and his body shook from the adrenaline pulsing through his veins. He quickly embarked on a train headed for New York City, and the transmitter in his jaw sprang to life.

"Fisher... Are you alright? We heard a struggle on the monitor." Lambert said.

"I... ran into this guy... He's good. I'm heading to New York..." Fisher said.

"You're running away?" Lambert inquired.

"Lambert, I want you to bring up all the info you've got on contract killing. I'm not sure you've told me everything... I want full clearance." Sam said sternly.

"Fisher, are you out of your mind? If I get caught..." Lambert stopped, "Alright, safe trip... Keep your eyes peeled, I'll dig up everything we have... Grimsdottir and I will see what we can find."

Fisher curled into his seat and exhaled a sigh of relief, closing his eyes for a moment as he tucked his goggles into his backpack.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: Close Enemies**

47 was laid down on the cremation platform in a tranquil state; his facial features placid and relaxed unlike his normal, serious expressions. His hibernative status was shaken as he felt something press soft against his lips. Two objects were placed in his hands which were very familiar to him; his crossed arms remained perfectly still.

He opened his eyes slightly for a moment, observing the area covertly. It was a mass ceremony for his burial apparently, and armed FBI agents were in attendance. Suddenly, 47 sprung from his platform, grasping his Silverballers firmly and looking out his arms as he opened fire. This move caught the FBI agents by surprise; this was the anticipated affect after all.

As the FBI agents nervously scrambled to retaliate, 47 grabbed hold of a man in a priest's outfit and held him in front of him as he fired upon the agents. In a blur of fighting and running, 47 awoke from his slumber, disrupting the reminiscing of the past to focus on the present.

He was in his small hotel room, wearing a t-shirt and his dress pants, lying in bed. He looked to his arm which he had patched up and remembered what had happened.

Fisher and 47 stared at each other for a brief moment through the train window as 47's target eluded his grasp and escaped to New York. The professional promptly climbed out of bed and got ready to make his train to NYC, vengeance and greed filling his mind.

"Fisher, this is Grim. I went digging up information regarding our government's views and relations with contract killing organizations." Grimsdottir chimed in just as Fisher closed his eyes.

"What have you got for me?" Sam said, ignoring his grogginess.

"Apparently, we only recognize and work with one organization known as the International Contracts Agency; our relations with the agency are very good, and it is a very lucrative business, especially due to the exceptional employees. I tried accessing information about their top assassins, but I don't have clearance... yet. I'll keep you posted."

"Try to get some rest, Sam." Lambert interrupted, "You look like hell."


End file.
